Dara cried out, rushing to his warrior. Manizheh glanced back, and Nahri shot free of Jamshid. She grabbed the knife Aqisa had given her and whirled on her murderous aunt.
Ah, but she’d forgotten how fast her Afshin was. There was a glimpse of his bow and a flit of silver. A whistle on the wind …
And then a punch of searing pain that knocked the breath from her lungs.
Dazed by the blow, Nahri looked numbly at Dara as she stumbled, not understanding right away that the bow still pointed in her direction and the silver shaft protruding from her chest were connected. They couldn’t be.
Jamshid let out a bellow of outrage, but he hadn’t taken two steps toward the Afshin when Dara snapped his fingers, instantly wrapping her brother in thick, binding tendrils of smoke.
“Enough,” Dara said quietly, and the lethal command in his voice seemed to silence even Manizheh. He closed the eyes of his dead warrior, his gaze still on the man as he spoke again. “You could have surrendered, Nahri. She offered you a fair deal. A life. And instead you chose to bury our home in more death.”
Nahri was speechless with pain and betrayal. He’d shot her. Dara had looked her in the face and put an arrow through her body.
And it hurt. It hurt so much. There was blood in her mouth when she spoke, trying to deny his words. “I didn’t … that was blood magic. Manizheh—”
“There are marid ships in the palace!” The words exploded from him, and then Dara spun back on her, grief raging in his eyes. “We always wondered, you know, how Zaydi brought his army through the lake so quickly. All the survivors had the same story, ships rising through the mists like magic.” He jabbed a finger at a ghastly dhow of bones and broken timbers beached on the opposite wall. “A ship like that brought the army that slaughtered your ancestors. The army that hunted and tortured and murdered my family. My little sister.” His voice broke. “And you brought them back here. You fight with them.”
Manizheh spoke up. “Afshin …”
“No.” Dara was trembling, his eyes wet with tears, but his tone was firm. “No. You told me I could speak when it came to defending our home, and I am. You’re not the only one who gets to use Tamima’s memory.” He turned back to Nahri. “I loved you. I would have served you to the end of my days, and you chose a Qahtani.”
Nahri had never truly been afraid of Dara until that moment as he slowly rose to his feet, uncurling like a cornered, beaten tiger. One about to maul his way through the world that had trapped him. She reached for the arrow. If she could just pull it free, she would heal. She could fight.
But Nahri had no sooner given it a tug than she nearly blacked out with pain. Her knees gave out, and she fell.
“I’m not your enemy,” she tried to protest. “Dara, please …”
“If you led those creatures to my home, you most certainly are.” Dara gave her a look so cold it stole what was left of Nahri’s breath. “I remember, you know. I remember the night I told you of the war, of the djinn who massacred my family and your ancestors. I remember how you said you were glad.”
She gasped. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I do not believe you. Because I know you. And you are a liar. A thief.” He met her gaze. “A trickster and a dirt-blood who twists words only to land her mark. And I am done being deceived. I am done listening to a bunch of Nahids bicker over power while their city burns.” Dara crossed to Manizheh.
And then he knelt at her feet.
“My lady,” he started, “you and I have battled, and we have warred, but I have never doubted for a moment that you wanted to save your people. To give the Daevas the freedom we deserved and make a world in which your son could hold his head up high.”
Manizheh flinched at that, her eyes going to Jamshid, who was visibly fighting the bonds holding him. “I’ve already lost him. She took him, poisoned him against me.”
“You haven’t lost him,” Dara said firmly. “He just needs time. The peace that distance and time will bring. The peace that you brought us so close to before the djinn betrayed you. I would bring you that peace now. But I cannot protect us from your magic, navigate my curse, and fight all at the same time.”
Her expression turned guarded. “What are you asking, Afshin?”
“Let me fight the way I know best.” Dara reached behind him, plucking an arrow from his quill and holding it up. “You told me once I should be proud to be a weapon of the Nahids. You begged me to understand. I do. I wish I did not, but I do. You offered mercy, and they turned you down. She turned you down,” he added, jerking his head back at Nahri. “You were correct. This only ends in violence. But then it will end. Let me be Daevabad’s weapon. Let me give you peace.”
Manizheh glanced again at Jamshid. “I didn’t want it to happen like this,” she said, her words so low Nahri barely heard them. They weren’t for her, she knew. They were for Manizheh’s Scourge, her partner in death and destruction.
“I know.” Dara gave her a broken smile of bitter understanding. “I wish I could say it gets better.”
Manizheh exhaled. “I just wanted him to be safe. I wanted to stop being afraid to lift my head.”
“And he will be,” Dara said softly.
